Sloshed
by effulgentcolors
Summary: Based on an altered tumblr prompt: maid of honour crashing the bachelor party for the hot best man.


Sober Emma will definitely consider this a very, _very_ bad idea. Sober Emma will go back to Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, point an unsteady but still threatening finger at Ruby and forbid her from filling Emma's glass again. Sober Emma will think about the consequences and the 'what if's and the 'but's and all those other things that have kept her from having her wicked way with one Killian Jones for the last year and a half.

Sober Emma left the building about an hour ago. That in itself might not have been quite so tragic, if Drunk Emma hadn't left Mary Margaret's apartment half an hour after that.

Ah, yes, Drunk Emma. Drunk Emma just flirted her way into the bar Killian reserved (yes, the idiot reserved _the whole fucking bar_! How many friends did he think David had exactly?!) for his best mate's bachelor party.

The party she is most definitely not invited to.

The party she is currently crashing.

Huh. Turns out David has more friends than she thought. But then again by Emma's standards (Sober or Drunk) everybody has a lot of friends. The party is… well, way classier than she imagined it would be. There's a chance she cringes a little, remembering the explosion of cheap champagne and sex toys she left, the one she and Ruby put together for Mary Margaret. The bar is the perfect size for the group of men – not empty enough to look pathetic but definitely not full enough to feel crowded. There are the usual billiard tables and 3 additional poker tables have been set up. Most of the men are drinking whiskey (Victor is already on his way to passed out territory and Emma congratulates herself on not being _that_ hammered) and smoking cigars (Anton chokes so hard she would probably try to do CPR on him, if she wasn't three sheets to the wind that is).

Emma wobbles slightly on heels that were supposed to be worn only in Mary Margaret's apartment and scans the bar for a mop of dark hair and a flash of insanely blue eyes.

Her ears beat her eyes to the prize.

"Bloody Hell!"

Emma whirls around (waaaay too fast!) and finally spots Killian, leaning on the back of David's chair and trying to discourage the blond from going all in again Robin. Which is probably a sensible decision but David's obviously inebriated state kindles a spark of drunken camaraderie in Emma and, before she can even begin to wonder what Sober Emma would think about any and all of this, she finds herself grabbing onto Jones' very pleasantly shaped bicep and wrenching him away from the groom-to-be.

"If he wants to risssk it ALL, you're let him!" she states with way more authority than her uninvited and liquored-up condition entails. "And you're follow his exe-example!"

"Swan! What the devil are you doing here?!" Killian's pretty eyes with the pretty eyelashes and pretty everything widen at her appearance. "Is Mary Margaret here too?"

He is frantically scanning the room before she can make the jump in topics with him.

"Noooo. Why?! Don't wanna her see the strippers?"

"There are no stripers. Dave didn't want any so keep your voice down before Whale starts whining to me about it again," he says, looking her over with a furrowed brow that makes her mimic his expression. "How drunk exactly are you, lass?"

"Imma no drunk. Imma bit tip-ti-" Emma shakes her head a bit, hoping that will untangle her tongue because the stupid thing just isn't working properly. "tipsy."

"Oh, yeah," Killian nods but his face makes her scrunch her nose because he is looking at her the way he did that time Ruby convinced her to dye her hair red and it came out a shitty pink. "Just tipsy, of course. How about we get you home so you can sleep off that pesky tipsiness, Swan?"

"No!" she wrenches her arm from his hand which had started her towards the back exit without her realizing it. "I have a stone- no, a-a bone, a _bone_ to pick with you, miss-mister!"

"Is that so, love? What, pray tell, did I do?" he lets her pull away and crosses his arms in front of his chest but his eyes keep track of her unsteady movements. "There's not a single scantily clad female on the premises as you can see. Present company excluded."

Emma frowns down at her little silver dress. It has no plunging neckline but more than makes up for it by stopping a questionably acceptable distance below her butt.

"I'm not scam-scanl-scanly- Ugh! I'm not that," she says waving her hand at him and glaring in a way that should force him to keep it under 2 syllables from now on.

Unfortunately, her enthusiastic arm movements tip her balance just a bit too much and before she knows it Emma finds herself with Killian's steadying and very, _very_ warm hands on her waist.

"Love, are you okay?"

"I'm not that too!" she exclaims indignantly but opts to stay where she is – for safety reasons.

"You're not okay?" all teasing seems to have left Killian's eyes and he is checking her over in a way far-removed from the way she wants him to be checking her over.

"Your love! Imma not your love!" she declares almost angrily and watches hurt and confusion flicker across his expressive face.

Ugh. Idiot.

"You've nev-"

"Why IS that?!"

They blurt at the same time and for a second Sober Emma runs across her brain and _oh god_.

"What?" Killian asks carefully.

"Why… Nothing," she cringes.

He stands there, still as a statue, hands still on her waist (a fact he seems terrible unaware of – a fact she is terrible _aware_ of), eyes searching her face for something Emma cannot identify in her current condition.

Whatever it is he seems to find it and in the next moment an open affection, the kind that looks triumphant in finally breaking through, softens his face and his hands slide up to her shoulders as his lips find her forehead.

"Emma, _love_ ," he says it in a new way she finds herself instantly and irreversibly fond of. "Let's get you home."

She nods distractedly as he gently turns her around and her head refuses to follow along, trying to remain stubbornly in sight of his face.

Killian chuckles and it's the kind of sound that manages to slow down the spinning in her head (if only marginally). "I'm coming, come on."

The cab ride to her apartment lulls to sleep whatever awareness was left in Emma and the interval between entering the car and feeling her pillow beneath her is a bit of a blur. A blur of Killian mostly – Killian carrying her up the stairs to the soundtrack of her grumbling and hiccupping and slightly provocative threatening, Killian spilling a hilarious amount of hilarious apologies while going through her bag to find her keys when she plops down in the hallway and refuses to do it herself, Killian taking off her shoes and lightly kneading her aching heels; Killian almost begging her to try to undress herself as he pilfers an oversized shirt for her to sleep in from God knows where; Killian talking about water and aspirin and _tomorrows_ while he pulls her comforter over her.

And then there's the Killian of her slightly distorted dreams. Doing very different things.

/

When David decides to take his revenge for all the money he lost at his own bachelor party and get his best man drunk on his wedding, Emma figures that it's only fair that she takes care of Killian once he is well and truly sloshed.

After all a) it was kinda her fault that Killian had to leave David in Robin's clutches, b) he did take care of _her_ drunk ass, c) she does happen to be the maid of honour and d) she also happens to be his girlfriend.


End file.
